


Die with our Arms Unbound

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux is Not Nice, Armitage Hux is a Jerk, Attempted Murder, BAMF Rose Tico, Biting, Bittersweet Ending, Brutality, Captivity, Choking, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Violence, F/M, Hux's kink is surviving assassination attempts, Implied Kylux, Masochist Armitage Hux, Minor Reylo, Murder, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rose Tico Needs A Hug, Snuff, Spy Armitage Hux, Suicidal Thoughts, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Why Did I Write This?, implied Hitaka, will tag additional characters as they show up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Rose Tico doesn’t measure time in hours, days, weeks, or months anymore. She measures it in her attempts on General Hux’s life, each more pathetic (as he would say, and she would privately, reluctantly agree) than the last.But they both get careless as time goes on, however its passage is marked, and Rose ultimately seizes her chance. Armitage Hux will pay for underestimating her hatred and making her his plaything.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Bound and Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> Be careful, guys. I'm serious about the warnings.
> 
> Rape/noncon, and it's not actually sexy. As far as kink/sexual stuff goes this will be fairly tame (biting, spanking, etc) but it's not consensual or following anything resembling good BDSM practices, hence the Domestic Violence tag. In terms of how people treat each other and psychological stuff, this is one of nastiest things I've ever written. Hux is a horrible, horrible person, and Rose gives as good as she gets in return.
> 
> The endgame ship is Rose Tico/ Survival & Healing. Take that as you will.

Rose Tico doesn’t measure time in hours, days, weeks, or months anymore. She measures it in her attempts on General Hux’s life, each more pathetic (as he would say, and she would privately, reluctantly agree) than the last.

This internal calender of pain, fear, and shame began when he called her biting vermin, and she in turn bit him. She expected execution anyway. Instead, he dragged her away to his chambers, depositing her on his bed like a sack of tubers, arms still bound by binders. She bounced after he dropped her, the squeaks of the bedsprings making the noises pride would not allow her to let slip from her lips.

Before Rose could yell for help, he turned on his heel and left. He returned hours later.

“Did you kill Finn?”, she asked.

“Maybe,” he replied, taking off his hat and placing it on a little stand. The greatcoat came next, then his tunic. Rose’s stomach flipped over, and her breathing became more laboured. 

“That was a stupid question, actually,” Rose said, fighting to keep her voice even. “I should have asked if you had someone else kill him for you. You’ve never done a day’s work in your life; you don’t seem like the type to get your hands dirty.”

“Shut up, scum.”

“Or what? You’ll have somebody from Interrogation bring out that kinky chair and electrodes instead of whatever this is? You’ll make me the star attraction at a gangbang so I’ll have to be fucked by ten dicks in a row instead of you just the once?” Bile rose in her throat. Wait. If she could turn and vomit all over his pillow, at least she could inconvenience him before he violated and killed her. She rolled onto her side and heaved. Nothing came up.

“That is an idea,” he mused.

“Finally you have a half-decent one. Maybe one of your men will possess a cock that’s of average size, at least. I saw yours going up when I was biting you, and I didn’t think much of it.”  _ Maybe one of those men can be persuaded to help me. _

Rose actually believed that size wasn’t everything; her high school boyfriend was probably a little bit smaller than average, but she’d been attracted to him for his kindness, and in bed, as in everything in that poor boy’s life, he was generous. However, the quickest way to degrade a man was to insult his dick. 

Before she could contemplate further ways to insult this greasy, pallid man and his ancestors all the way back to the first generation, the flat of a gloved hand caught her on the cheek. Pain ebbed out from where he hit her. After the shock, her next thought was:  _ I expected him to punch me.  _

“This was a warning,” he told her coldly. “Next time I will not be so lenient.” He smiled thinly, satisfied that discipline had been maintained.

“There’s a next time? Kriffboy, after how you treated me tonight, no way am I ever going out with you again. You don’t know how to act around a lady.”

He picked up a bootjack, sat down on a little stool, and removed his boots. The stockings came next. After he removed each one, he rubbed it between his toes like a piece of dental floss through teeth. Stripped down to a grey undershirt, he looked much thinner. Freckles dotted his narrow shoulders. 

_ If I was a totally evil kriffer who wanted to make an impression on some prisoner,  _ Rose thought,  _ I’d bend her over my desk with my clothes on while she was naked. I wouldn’t let her see me without my padding, wouldn’t let her think she was worth the effort of undressing for.  _ Then, her blood ran cold at the thought that Hux didn’t  _ need  _ to intimidate her. He’d fuck her to get himself off, then he’d probably kill her and shove her body into a trash compactor. 

“You are no lady,” he said, stripped down to his underclothes.

“Well, you are certainly not a respectable gentleman by any stretch of the imagination.”

He removed his undershirt, exposing tiny pink nipples and a chest that was nearly concave, then his boxers. His cock jutted out of a little cloud of red hair, hard, purple, and leaking precum. “I’ve never said I was a gentleman in my life.” He stalked towards her. 

Rose shut her eyes. She’d pretend that this was some unsavory bedtime fantasy. When she was alone, she used to dream of some stranger throwing her down and having his rough way with her. Probably because she’d been taught that it was a sin to find pleasure in sex at all.

Her binders fell off her wrists with a click. Rose gasped. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she jumped off the bed and ran for the door. She tried it. It was locked.

She looked behind her, back at the bed. Hux was lounging atop the covers, a smirk on his pasty, ugly face. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

“You took the binders off me.”

“It’s hard to take off a shirt if your arms are bound up.”

“I AM NOT TAKING OFF MY CLOTHES IN FRONT OF YOU!” Rose thrust her hands into her pockets for her trusty multi-tool. Then, she remembered that it had been confiscated. Even her pendant of Haysian Smelt was gone.

“We’ll see,” Hux said. “I usually get what I want. Besides, they’re not  _ your  _ clothes; you stole them from the Officers’ Laundry.”

Rose’s heart thumped in her ears. The door lock looked like it had a biological verification component. All she’d need was the General’s fingerprint. That would still work if he was dead. 

She turned around, taking in the scenery of this room. There was a decanter of some clear liquid on the sideboard. Drinking that would make what she had to do next easier. But she needed a clear head for the aftermath.  _ Pretend he’s a sex doll . A hyperrealistic doll that comes with a bunch of prerecorded, derogatory phrases, so that anyone who wants to experiment with humiliation or other nasty stuff doesn’t have to involve another person.  _

Rose ripped off her stolen jacket, tunic, jodhpurs, and boots. She kicked them into a corner, savoring Hux’s disgusted grimace as the fabric rumpled. She removed her panties and bra, using the elastic to shoot them at Hux’s head. They caught on the bedside lamp.

She jumped onto the foot of his bed and folded herself into a crouch, the vibrations dislodging a pillow. Hux was smiling, damn him. “I’m not going to make this easy for you,” Rose said, willing her voice not to tremble.

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her down onto him. “That’s perfectly fine. Nothing worthwhile ever is.”

As he pierced her dry, tight cunt, she bit him on the apex of neck and shoulder, not even allowing her jaws to relax after she tasted blood. That only seemed to spur him on, and they tumbled over, his cock driving deeper into her. 

Rose took advantage of this change in position to score lines across his back with her fingernails. He hissed like some feral beast in heat. She felt old scar tissue beneath the dampening flesh, and dug in harder. Scratching with the frenzied motions of a drowning swimmer reaching for the surface but biting like a shark, she twisted under him.  _ He cannot call this “making love”.  _ Panting and nearly spent, she slipped her hands free and clasped her blood-tipped fingers around his neck.

He came right after that, in spurts as hot as his blood. She gasped and pulled away from him, trembling despite herself. She was wet, but didn’t want to have an orgasm in front of this evil tyrant. Most of the wetness was his cum.

Hux looked a mess. He was adorned with bitemarks, purpling bruises spreading from the rows of bleeding puncture wounds. Scratches criss-crossed his arms and shoulders. His greasy strands of red hair hung over his forehead. He was wounded, but despite this he grinned triumphantly.

“Those bites will get infected if you don’t clean them properly,” Rose said.

“I know. I should expect that from a filthy little rat like yourself. I didn’t think you’d care about me, though.”

Rose drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “I don’t. I’m just stating a fact.” She beamed at him. “And I know something you don’t.”

“What?”

“I  _ am  _ filthy. I have the clap. After what we did, I’m like ninety percent sure I gave it to you.” Rose’s last sexual encounter was three years ago with a barrier and she’d never had an STD in her life, but Hux didn’t know that. His groan was music to her ears. She stretched out on his bed, spreading her legs and leaking cum onto his black sheets. She gave a little sigh. “Wasn’t that fun? Your cock was surprisingly adequate, by the way.”

Hux swung himself out of the bed, dressed quickly, and stormed out.  _ Perfect _ .


	2. Why we Fight

In the General’s absence, Rose explored his quarters. There was a door to the right of the bed that opened with one push. It led to a slightly larger living area with a little kitchenette and a refresher. Rose decided that she needed a shower or a sonic. 

After a blissful half-hour under real hot hot water scrubbing herself with a woodsy-scented bar of fancy soap, the evidence of Hux’s invasion of her body was rinsed out and down the drain. Hopefully she wouldn’t get pregnant. That would be unthinkable, to have Hux’s get in her belly. She’d rather die. Best not think about that.  _ I made him think he’s got the clap, at least. An eye for an eye.  _ She realized this was a subpar strategic decision as it could lead to an invasive medical examination. However, it  _ would  _ keep her alive just a little bit longer, and that was what mattered. Maybe it would be long enough to escape.

She dripped over his tiled floor until she found a cabinet of fluffy towels, wrapping one around herself. Beside the towels was a shelf of pills in transparent little canisters. She filed this knowledge away for future reference. The Aurabesh script on the outside only revealed the patient name and issue date. She had no clue if they were anti-anxiety meds, antidepressants, or acne medication. And even less of an idea of what they would do if they were ground to powder and dissolved in Hux’s unknown booze. They could poison him. Or they could form cloudy precipitants or turn the liquid green.

The urge to wipe up the drips was strong. She reminded herself who this refresher belonged to, and desisted. Dried, with the towel in a crumpled ball on the puddled floor, she rescued her underwear from the bedside lamp, and put her stolen uniform back on.

Hmm. She searched the kitchenette, a simple afterthought of clean lines in black and charcoal grey. The doors for the cabinets were hidden in the paneling. Maybe this was evidence of a secret cache of weapons. Or perhaps it was just ugly minimalist design.

_ There have to be knives in here.  _ But all she could find was a stack of ration-bars in wrappers, and one container of some sliced melon. Joganfruit, perhaps? Her stomach growled. She gnawed her way through three ration bars, then ate the slimy purple melon for dessert. She had eaten half of the pieces of melon before finally thinking to look for cutlery in a little drawer, cunningly hidden in some immovable black wall paneling. She had to push this one first before it slid out. Jackpot. There were forks, spoons, and one big knife that looked like it could chop vegetables.

She tested the edge with her finger. Dull. But still, she’d been taught that you could do more damage with a blunt knife than a good sharp edge. Her mother had been talking about safe cooking practices instead of killing men or herself, though. The knife was nearly as long as her forearm, too big to hide beneath a pillow to stab Hux with in his sleep. If he kept her around after this. 

He was likely going to kill her. Finn was probably dead. Maybe she should off herself before he could have his fun with her sore body. Taking stock, she realized all she had was a bunch of unidentified pills (maybe she could take all of them at once?), a bottle of something, and a dull blade. She heard it could take a long, unpleasant while to die from a drug overdose, and it was all too easy to bring someone back. The same went for slitting one’s wrists. She would have to press this blunt hunk of metal hard into her skin and give it a good long pull. 

_ I’m a coward. I don’t like pain. Even if it will prevent worse suffering later.  _ She gripped the handle of the knife in one fist, knuckles white. The knife shook in her hand like an actor’s prop, perhaps the weapon of choice of a tragic heroine.

A lifetime ago on a dead planet far away, she had gone to traditional theater performances with Paige and her parents. The actors spoke in archaic, stilted prose, were dressed in ridiculous costumes, and exaggerated all motions and facial expressions. The first time she’d seen this, she laughed. 

The men and women there didn’t seem like good actors, with the ladies flopping their richly brocaded sleeves into their faces in sorrow and the gentlemen drawing fake swords out of scabbards with a showy flourish. Each “duel” was excruciatingly slow and paused for speeches in the same unnatural verses. The auditorium was dusty and dark, the scenery sparse. 

“Who thought this was  _ entertaining?”,  _ Rose hissed. Their parents were engrossed with a pair of courtiers engaging in near-incomprehensible banter whilst one (a lady wearing a black wooden circlet studded with yellow flowers atop her towering hairdo) kept tossing a lurid pink artificial jelly-apple to herself.

“In olden times, half of the audience was sitting in the back of a crowd in a field,” Paige explained with a frown. “They needed to move and emote so everyone could see. The plays were written centuries ago. The costumes were designed in the same era.”

Rose wasn’t trying to recreate  _ The Fall of the Lady of Stones  _ or  _ The Two Lovers Lost  _ right here in General Hux’s quarters. She was a modern woman, one who wouldn’t wring her hands about virtue plundered or honor stained. 

But the stolen officer’s uniform felt every bit the costume as poor fictional Lady Iasha’s gigantic white mourning-gown had been. The same gown was draped in a red silk scarf to symbolize blood so the stagehands wouldn’t have to dress and undress the actress or ruin a valuable dress with red paint after Lady Iasha fell on her dead husband’s sword after he was slain and her honor besmirched.

For the first time, Rose understood the urge to do the same in reality. Not to lean forward and stick an obviously wooden sword under her armpit, but to actually kill herself and stain Hux’s linens or carpet with his own sin. Maybe he’d fuck her corpse, but that wasn’t her problem if she were dead.

She stretched out her arms and watched the knife in her right hand tremble. Taking a deep breath, she brought it closer to her, studying the play of fluorescent light on durasteel blade, the little nearly imperceptible nicks on the edge. It looked cheap, flimsy. Would it be enough to puncture clothing, her flesh, and finally her heart? She didn’t think so. She prayed it would exceed her expectations.

The door hissed open, and General Hux stomped in. His face was blotched with red, lip curled up in a sneer. His left eye had a red ring round it that was beginning to swell. He stopped when he saw Rose, in her wobbly tableau of self-pity.

“Put that down before you hurt yourself,” he said, expression turning from anger to blankness.

Rose’s heart surged in her chest. Now was the time to act. She rushed him, or tried to. He caught her wrist in one gloved hand, using his extra height to twist her arm back, away from him. The knife now pointed somewhere over Rose’s shoulder.

“Drop it. Or you’ll just make things worse.” 

He had made no move to restrain her free hand, so she swung up her left hand in a swift, beautiful arc, catching him on the cheek with a smack. The knife clattered to the floor.

For a brief second, he was stunned; it seemed his captive slapping him was an experience bizarre as if the glass caf-table before the ice-blue couch had savaged him before galloping away down the hall. 

_ Put a knee in his dick if you can’t punch him,  _ Rose finally remembered from that awkward conversation she had with her father aged thirteen, after she came home crying about how one of her spotty, male counterparts had touched her butt without asking.  _ Don’t think about what’s fair or not if he took liberties with you, or hurt you. _

But she moved too slowly. He hauled her into the kitchenette, stopping to sit down on the little chair she’d previously eaten her scavenged breakfast in. Before she knew what had happened, she was draped over his knee, and her ass burned with the imprint of his gloved hand. 

“What the kriff do you think you’re doing?!”, she shrieked.

Three more sharp swats came her way. Then it hit her, quite literally. His reaction to attempted murder was to spank her like the child she wasn’t. Hysterical laughter broke free of her chest.

“What’s so funny, scum?” He paused his ridiculous chastisement.

“I hate you more than anyone I’ve ever met. I tried to kill you. And now you’re spanking me? You shouldn’t be trying to make this into some gross sex thing. You should be scared of me.”

When the words left her mouth, she realized how laughable this sounded. He was stronger than her. He was in his element on this ship. While all she could do was mouth off.

“So you’re saying that you think you deserve worse punishment than this?” 

Rose’s guts twisted. “Why haven’t you shot me?”

“You amuse me.”

With that, he set fire to her ass with six more spanks, in rapid succession. Rose panted. Then, she twisted and sunk her teeth into his thigh, clamping her jaws together even as he yelped and pulled her hair. She could take a little more pain. Then, like a hunting constrictor, he wrapped one hand around her neck and squeezed. Spots danced before her eyes, and she wheezed, forced to let go of him.

The pressure relented. “Good girl,” Hux cooed. “Stop trying to fight me. I have every advantage here.”

He yanked her pants and underwear down, forcing two gloved fingers into her still-sore cunt. She squeaked. He chuckled. 

Then, Hux’s clever fingers made her body betray her, opening her passage and flipping the switch of her clit like an incautious burglar turning on a lightswitch in someone else’s house. She kicked and struggled, but he held her firmly, only stopping when she came with a sob.

_ Pretend that he’s some rando you met on the holonet and arranged to have an anonymous rough fuck and roleplay with,  _ Rose told herself. Not that she’d done anything of the sort before or intended to start, but she knew that some people did.  _ He’s not really General Hux. He’s just a very specialized prostitute in a wig.  _

When he hauled her up again and leered at her, Rose did not dignify this with a response. This resolve lasted until he opened his mouth again:

“I was generous with you, scum. I gave you a orgasm. Perhaps you could think of showing some gratitude.”

Rose glanced at what looked to be the beginning of an awful black eye, at the tired hollows of his face, at his hair slicked into submission because he hadn’t the time to properly wash it. “I know why you didn’t kill me. Why you’re keeping me. Why you’re kriffing around with me like this now.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

Now it was Rose’s turn to smirk. “You’re the entire First Order’s bitch. You work yourself half to death. You blew up five planets. You order around legions of toy soldiers in toy spaceships. None of it matters, though. Someone still hurts you. After all this time, after all that work you’ve done. Now, I’m the only one left for you to hit. I, a woman half your size, bring the only real fight you can win.”

His lip trembled like a petulant little boy receiving a harsh tongue-lashing from his mother for a fraction of a second. Then, his fist crashed into the side of her head. 


End file.
